


In the Apple Orchard

by orphan_account



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Childhood Memories, Communication Failure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 07:38:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They were men when Loki’s rage curled in on itself, a weapon turning against its master. They fought, brother against brother, blood mingling with blood; then Loki fell from the Bifrost, and was gone.





	In the Apple Orchard

They were no longer children, the first time Loki spat at Thor, but they were not quite yet men either. Caught somewhere in the too-long limbs and awkward gaits of youth, Thor had run beside Loki, laughing, in their mother’s garden, begging him to come spar, for they had grown too old for play by then. Loki, whose head had been buried in a book, whose narrow shoulders had been curled within themselves, had turned and scowled and said, “I am not a _plaything_ for your amusement, brother. Find somebody else to bruise. I have better things to do.”

And Norns, it had hurt. Thor had stood gaping in the shadow of an apple tree as Loki had stalked away, his chin held high, his feet sure, scorn plain on his pale face. Scorn for what, Thor had wondered? For him? His brother had never snarled at him before that moment, not with such conviction, such raw contempt. It had always been a game between them before, boys trying to play at being men.

And if Thor had been a little older, a little wiser, perhaps he might have seen in that day in the garden the beginning of a very long end.

 

* * *

 

It was later, many years later. Where Thor had grown tall and golden, the crown prince of Asgard, the bearer of Mjolnir, Loki had sharpened his tongue, turned his wrath into his weapon. Gone were the children who played in the sunlight, Frigga’s sons, replaced instead by the men they had always been destined to become; warmongering, arrogant, prideful creatures, the sons now of Odin.

“Tell us a story, Loki,” Thor had asked him as they sat around the glow of a campfire, fresh with the sweat and vigor of a hunt, “Where were you, those three years when you disappeared from Asgard? Even Heimdall himself could not see you!”

“It was a simple trick,” Loki had said, his smile tight, his lips pale, “One that you yourself might learn if you would take but a moment from your drinking and fighting to attempt to _learn_ something. Though perhaps even the most basic of spells would prove themselves too difficult for your thick warrior’s head to comprehend.”

The laughter, what smattering of it there had been, had been uncomfortable. The Warriors Three had stared in confusion at Loki, who had calmly, determinedly turned his face away from Thor, from all of them, and set to cleaning his daggers as though nothing had been said. There had been no more storytelling that evening, and never again between Thor and Loki.

 

* * *

 

They were men when Loki’s rage curled in on itself, a weapon turning against its master. They fought, brother against brother, blood mingling with blood; then Loki fell from the Bifrost, and was gone.

And Thor, for all his grief, was still there.

 

* * *

 

Loki came back, then fell once again, and then he was back. Thor mourned each time as bitterly as he did the last.

“Sentimental fool,” Loki murmured on The Commodore, brushing his finger down the ragged skin of Thor’s cheek, “Always so quick to fall for my lies. Tell me, brother, when I am truly dead, what will you do then? Will you weep for me, or will you laugh at the trickster having finally been paid his due?”

Thor caught Loki’s hand in his own, crushed it tight, “I will pray that the Halls of Valhalla accept your soul, but I will not cry. I have mourned you too many times now, Loki; I have nothing left to give.”

“Good,” Loki said, and turned away, “That is good.”

Thor was wrong, though. There is always something left to give.

But, as always, he was too late.


End file.
